Man of Steel FFDCU
by Broken Ben
Summary: A new telling of Superman's origin. Eighteen year old Clark Kent has always struggled with his own temper. But when he begins to develop powers, he gains a whole new set of problems. Now, Clark has a choice to make... become a hero, or a weapon.
1. Awakening

**Hello everyone, I'm Broken Ben. This is my first story on fanfiction, and also the first in my Infinite DCU series. For more information on that, check out my profile! At first the changes to Superman's origin in this story may seem minor, but if you follow the story over the next few chapters you will realize just how drastically the man of steel's beginnings have been altered.**

**And of course, I'd love to see any feedback you readers may have to help make my stories the best they can be, so review!**

Chapter One: Awakening

**Metropolis – 1994**

The brisk November air easily penetrated the cracked windows of the small shop. Sixteen year old John Henry Irons had long since given up on the small electric heater in the corner, which barely produced enough warmth to keep his teeth from chattering. John Henry had landed a part time job at a small auto-shop called _Mikes Auto-Repair, _working for minimum wage doing little more than sweeping up shop and the occasional tire rotation.

Another gust of wind blew, and John rubbed his hands together, trying to warm his fingers up. "I would give up my paycheck for a month if it would convince Mike to install some freakin' heat." He muttered to himself, flipping the light switch off. John had been instructed to close up shop, and he was eager to get out of there before he missed the meteor shower that was supposed to be passing over. It had been all over the news for a week, and he wasn't about to miss it.

John inserted the key into the lock on the doorknob, and at that very moment there was a thunderous crash. The entire shop trembled as if it had just been struck by a powerful earthquake, and the windows shattered under the weight of the impact. John hit the floor in a panic, but just as suddenly as the tremor had begun, it stopped. "What the hell was that?" He screamed frantically into the dust-filled air. Slowly, he wobbled onto his feet.

John looked back to see the rear wall of the shop had completely collapsed, and buried into the concrete was a round metal object about the size of a small car. John was no rocket scientist, but it didn't take him long to deduce that the object was no meteor. "What in the…" he eyed the strange object that had fallen from the heaves and, by all account of his poor luck, collided with the store. Grabbing a large crescent wrench to defend himself, John cautiously approached the metallic sphere. As he drew nearer, he noticed several strange symbols arranged in intricate patterns along the sphere. He immediately associated the symbols with hieroglyphics, but they were much more complex than anything he had seen in _The Mummy, _that was for sure.

Now within reach, John extended his hand forward and cautiously touched the sphere. Immediately, the symbols lit up with bright fluorescent blue light. Loud mechanical sounds erupted from the sphere, and John backed away quickly, startled. A blue beam shot out from the sphere and ran up and down John's body, as if scanning him. An automated voice erupted from the sphere; **"No Threat Detected. Opening Capsule."**

Slowly, what appeared to be a door began to open, ready to reveal whatever lurked inside of the sphere. "No threat huh? We'll see about that." John muttered, turning the wrench over in his hand. He raised the tool into the air, ready to strike. John leapt forward to see what the capsule contained, and was shocked to discover that inside was… a baby. A small, human-looking infant baby. Slowly, John lowered the wrench. "You have got to be kidding."

The baby looked as if it were waking up from a long sleep. With a big yawn, the infant looked up at John, revealing bright blue eyes full of interest. John couldn't help but grin; it was pretty cute. But immediately, his mind went into a frenzied swirl of questions. _A baby? What am I supposed to do with a baby? Where did it even come from? What's up with that sphere?_

Suddenly, John's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of several vehicles pulling up the drive. Large vehicles. He spun around and looked through the frame of the now shattered front window to see four military Jeeps parked outside the shop. A small squadron of armed soldiers got out from the vehicles and began approaching the front door.

"Crap… the feds." John grumbled, looking back down at the baby. His mind put the equation together quickly, _Guns + Baby from space = Bad news. _Moving quickly, John picked the baby up and removed him from the capsule. To his relief, the door slid shut as soon as the baby was out. Looking around frantically, John spotted an empty tool bag sitting atop a work bench. Working as fast as he could while still being gentle, he stuffed the baby inside the tool bag and zipped it shut. _Please don't cry. Please don't cry. _

Just as John was stepping away from the bag, the door burst open and the soldiers moved in swiftly. They all raised their guns, and John held up his hands, terrified. The soldiers stood in line, all except one. A tall, muscular man, probably in his mid-thirties approached John with a stoic look of superiority on his face.

"What is your name?" The soldier demanded.

"John Henry Irons." He squeaked. "I work here."

"Lieutenant Samuel Lane." The soldier introduced himself professionally, and then looked over John's shoulder at the orb. "You are in possession of government property. We are here to extract the object, and then we'll be on our way."

"Government property?" John looked back at the orb. "Exactly what is it?"

"Just a fallen satellite."

"A satellite?"

"Affirmative. It was knocked out of orbit during the meteor shower. You are lucky not to have been injured. Now kindly step aside so that we can retrieve it." Lieutenant Lane ordered.

"Look, I'm no expert… but I'm pretty sure that's not a satellite. Mind telling me the truth?"

Lieutenant Lane's expression turned fierce, dangerous even. "Don't ask questions that you aren't prepared to know the answers to, Mr. Irons. Now kindly step aside, so that we can retrieve our satellite."

Out the corner of his eye, John saw the tool bag moving. _Damn_. Quickly, John Henry stepped to the side, being sure to stand in front of the bag so that Lieutenant Lane didn't notice it squirming. "Go ahead."

The soldiers moved forward. Someone else came up to question John, asking if he had touched the pod. John told him no, deciding it would be safer to lie. Within minutes, the soldiers had attached cables to the pod and pulled it into the back of an armored truck. Lieutenant Sam Lane approached John one last time. "The government thanks you for your cooperation, Mr. Irons."

"Anything for my beloved country." John replied, forcing a smile.

The military left, taking the mysterious pod with them. Once John Henry was sure they were all gone, he turned and pulled the baby safely out of the tool bag. It was a boy. "Ah… what am I supposed to do with you?" He asked. The baby looked back at him with curious, energetic blue eyes. "Ok kid," John sighed, "I guess I'd better go find an orphanage."

**Smallville, Kansas – Eighteen Years Later**

The sound of the rooster crowing pierced the ears of eighteen year old Clark Kent, forcing him awake with an agitated groan. "Stupid bird." Clark sat up on the foot of his bed and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Bright blue eyes, slick black hair, muscled and tanned from working on the farm… your average Kansas boy.

He got on to his feet and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, driven only by the alluring scent of bacon and waffles down below. Once he was dressed, Clark opened his bedroom door, turned down the hall, sped down the stairwell and veered into the kitchen where a delicious breakfast awaited him, prepared by Martha Kent, his adopted mother.

"Good morning Clark." Martha Kent hummed as she did every morning.

"Hey ma." Clark responded, loading his plate with blueberry waffles.

"Hay is for horses."

"Don't insult yourself like that ma; you look nothing like a horse."

"Ha-ha." She rolled her eyes.

"Morning Clark." Jonathon Kent entered the room, Clark's adopted father.

"Hi." Clark said through a full mouth.

Within six minutes, Clark wolfed down twelve waffles. He then reached into the fridge, opened a carton of milk, swallowed it all in two gulps, and grabbed his backpack.

"Well someone seems strangely eager to go to school." Martha smiled.

"Football starts today. I'm a bit excited for practice." Clark responded, "Besides, who wouldn't be eager to get their senior year over with?"

"I suppose you've got a point there." Jonathon laughed, opening up a newspaper. "Come right home after practice though. I'm going to need your help repairing the fence after that last twister that came through."

"Got it dad." Clark said within a belch. "After all, it's not like I have a social life or anything."

"Do you?" Jonathon raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you dad, poking fun at my lack of popularity is _sure _to boost my self-esteem."

"Imagine that, sarcasm." Jonathon rolled his eyes. "Honestly Martha, did you have to pick out the most sarcastic child in the world from the orphanage?"

"He was just a baby Jonathon. He hadn't learned to be a smart ass yet." Martha replied with a grin.

"I suppose that's what I get for adopting a baby from Metropolis." Jonathon shook his head. "Damn city punks."

"Oh, you guys are just wonderful." Clark smiled, and then headed out the door. He hopped into his old, rusted and beat up pickup truck that he had bought for two-hundred dollars from the neighbor. It wasn't the nicest ride in the world, but it got him from place to place and that was good enough for the time being.

As Clark started the truck, he caught a glimpse of something strange out the corner of his eye. It appeared to be a wolf. _A wolf? _Clark thought, startled by the oddity. But when he looked over, there was nothing. "Weird." Clark shook his head, "This truck must be putting out fumes."

**Secret Military Base – Same Time**

The meeting was now almost fully assembled. Present were the President of the United States, the Secretary of Defense, and General Sam Lane. "This had better be good." Lane announced, "I'm supposed to meet my daughter in Metropolis in one hour, and I will not be made late by anything short of extraordinary."

"I trust that what I am about to share with you will prove to be well worth your time, General." Echoed a sophisticated voice. And then, from the shadows, out stepped the man who had called the meeting; Lex Luthor.

"Who are you exactly?" General Lane beamed.

"Allow me to introduce myself, general. I am Lex Luthor. I lead many of the U.S. government's more… shall we say, under the rug studies."

"Like what, exactly?" General Lane asked.

"Classified information, General." Responded the secretary of defense automatically.

"Then why the hell am I here?"

"We'll be getting to that, I assure you." Lex nodded curtly. "Now that the formalities are over with, I suppose you are all wondering why I requested an audience with you."

"We are." Agreed the President.

"I trust all of you are familiar with UFO Alpha? The one that crashed in Metropolis in November of 1994."

"Of course. I was part of the squadron that recovered it." General Lane nodded.

"Exactly why you are here, General." Lex smiled. "Like all scientific findings that are classified _above _top secret, the UFO was handed over to my research team at LexCorp."

"The company that makes blenders and electric pencil sharpeners?" General Lane raised an eyebrow.

"Those are our public endeavors, yes." Lex smiled. "However, the true work of LexCorp is kept hidden from the public eye."

"What do you know; the hippies are on to something." General Lane scoffed. "Do you have a car that runs on water too?"

"Old news General. We built that in the seventies." Lex looked away from the general and continued speaking. "A short time ago, scientists at LexCorp uncovered something truly fascinating within UFO Alpha."

"What are you talking about?" The Secretary of Defense demanded. "All reports indicated that the UFO was empty upon retrieval."

"Void of organic life, yes. That is accurate." Lex responded. "However, there was something else within the UFO. A program, designed to navigate the UFO's flight path and constantly scan its surroundings. We have named it the Braniac program."

"So the aliens know how to program a GPS? So what?" General Lane spat.

"That was our original viewpoint as well, general. However, further inspection revealed the Braniac program to be much, much more." Lex pressed a button on a small remote, and a holographic image instantly appeared in the center of the room. The image was an incomprehensible mess of bizarre moving shapes and symbols.

"What is that?" The President questioned.

"That, Mr. President, is a techo-genetic coding found within the Braniac program. It isn't just a GPS, you see. Braniac is a DNA based techno-organism."

"Meaning what, exactly?" General Lane inquired.

"It means that the Braniac program is alive, general."

A stunned silence fell over the group. Finally, the secretary of defense broke the silence. "A living computer program?"

"Yes. One with a bio-technological genome coding like nothing we have ever encountered before in any known species. The Braniac program has only one function, you see, and that is to learn. It learns faster and far more efficiently than we do, and most importantly; it never, ever forgets. Even now, it is analyzing every single aspect of its surroundings on a subatomic level, collecting all of the information there is to be collected in the vicinity."

"Fascinating." The President leaned forward. "Mr. Luthor, if this program really is as advanced as you claim, doesn't it pose a potential threat?"

"As of now, no. The program is being carefully controlled by the world's best analysts and programmers. Unfortunately we have unable to access any of the knowledge that the program had prior to landing on Earth, it is all carefully restricted by security systems that our planet's best hackers cannot even begin to comprehend. However, we have been able to uncover one thing…"

"What's that?" The President asked.

"The Braniac program is coded to another specific set of DNA. I assume the DNA of a default setting, if you will. Someone who Braniac is designed to watch over. And upon further investigation, the DNA that Braniac is set to track… it too is unlike anything on Earth."

"Wait a minute, do you mean…" General Lane began.

"Yes general. With the use of Braniac's navigation, we can find the alien that UFO was carrying eighteen years ago."

**Smallville High – Later That Day**

"You ready for this bro?" Asked Pete Ross enthusiastically.

"I guess." Clark Kent shrugged.

Both boys were suited up in their football gear, waiting for practice to begin. Pete and Clark had been best friends since first grade, and that had remained a constant fact throughout their entire school careers.

"Why do I get the feeling you aren't nearly as pumped up about this as I am?" Pete frowned.

"Another year of sitting on the bench. Woo-freaking-hoo." Clark sighed.

"Well maybe if you actually _tried _once in a while, you'd get to play now and then." Pete smiled.

"That's kind of the problem." Clark groaned, "Football is my dad's dream, Pete. Not mine. I only pretend to be into it because he loves it so much."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it before." Pete sighed. "You know, Clark… you don't have to try so hard man. Your dad is gonna' love you whether you play football or not."

"That isn't the point." Clark dropped his gaze.

"I know what the point is Clark. You think that because John and Martha adopted you, you have to try extra hard to please them because they could have picked anybody else to take home. I get it. You want them to be proud. You want them to think they made a good choice when they adopted you. I know how it is, Clark… but that doesn't change the fact that you're blowing it all way out of proportion."

"Shut up Pete."

"They've raised you since you were a little kid, man. And they've always loved you. You don't have to earn it."

"Pete, I mean it! Shut up!" Clark snapped.

"Fine." Pete shrugged. "Let's talk about something more productive then. Like, for example, all those fine, fine ladies over there."

Clark looked up and stared across the field, where the cheerleading squad was having their first practice as well. Pete's eyes wandered, but Clark's gaze was focused on one girl; Lana Lang. The beautiful, dark skinned, long haired Lana Lang. The girl he'd had a crush on since before he even liked girls.

Suddenly, a firm hand locked on Clark's shoulder. "You have thirty seconds to get your eyes off of my girl, Kent." Barked the voice of Jon Corben, the school's single most stereotypical bully.

"Sorry Jon. I just couldn't help but feel sorry for her. After all, she's dating a borderline-alcoholic dick." Clark replied calmly.

"That's funny." Jon nodded, yanking Clark onto his feet. "You know what else is funny? Me, kicking your ass so hard that your shit comes out your nose."

"If you can do that, I will be thoroughly impressed." Clark grinned.

"You're about to be thouroughly dead, Kent!"

"Ooh, clever."

Jon shoved Clark as hard as he could, almost knocking him down. "Why don't you open that smartass mouth of yours, one more time?" He warned.

"Hey, guys, let's just be calm here." Pete stood between the two. "We're all on the same team."

"Not that Kent ever plays." Jon smiled. "Honestly, I don't know why you even bother trying out for the team every year Clark."

"I like to watch douchebags embarrass themselves. And Jersey Shore isn't on until 6:00."

"Clark, _stop talking back_." Pete snapped.

"You should really take advice from Gandhi here, Kent." Jon warned, nodding to Pete. "It might save you a whole lot of pain in the near future."

"Wow, do you get all of your lines from crappy movies, or just the ones that make you sound especially retarded?" Clark shot back.

"That's it Kent, you're dead!" Jon Corben balled his fists and lunged at Clark, knocking Pete away easily. Clark held up his arms to defend himself, but Jon's fist made an early contact with Clark's face, drawing blood from his jaw. Clark stumbled back and Jon shoved him onto the ground, and then kicked him in the ribs.

"Corben!" The coach screamed. "Get your ass over here!"

"Sorry coach. I was just showing Clark here how not to fight like a pussy." Jon stated, and most of the team laughed.

"Alright, all of you give me ten laps. I'll start easy. Go!" Coach Rose shouted, and the team took off running, generating an ocean of groans. Clark stood up and started to jog when the coach stopped him abruptly. "Not you, Kent."

Once the team was out of earshot, Coach Rose said, "Clark… why do you insist on picking fights that you aren't going to win?"

"I don't know." Clark groaned.

"You've got a lot of anger inside you, kid." Coach Rose observed. "I don't know where the hell it all comes from, but you've got a whole lot of anger. Just stop taking it out on people bigger than you, ok? Unless it's on the field, against somebody who isn't on your team, of course. Then its ok."

"Yeah, whatever."

"How about you go clean yourself up kid? Your lip's bleeding all over your new jersey."

"Thanks coach." Clark sighed, and walked back toward the locker room. However, as he was about to step inside, he saw something out the corner of his eye again. A dog. This one looked slightly less wolf-like than the one he thought he'd seen that morning, but there still seemed to be something off about it… something dream like. "What the hell?" Clark looked out at the dog, standing in the middle of the road near the school.

Then he noticed something else… a truck. A large truck heading at full speed, straight at the dog. It clearly had no intention of stopping. "Oh crap." Clark groaned. He thought back to when he was eight years old, and the Kent's family dog was run over by a car. He'd cried for a week. Now all he could think was, _that's some kid's dog. _

A strange instinct washed over Clark, a sudden feeling of power like nothing he had ever experienced before. Acting on pure instinct, Clark sprinted toward the road and dove for the dog! The truck's brakes squealed loudly, but there was no way it would stop in time. Clark held out his hands for protection, closed his eyes and braced for impact. And it came, but not anything like he had expected.

There was a thunderous crash as the truck collided with his hands, and to Clark's surprise, the truck came to an almost immediate halt. The front end practically exploded, Clark's hands smashing deep into the hood, just as easily as if it were made of snow. "What the hell?" The driver screamed, bursting out of the cab to see his destroyed front end. "What did you do?" He shrieked frantically.

The football team and several cheerleaders were now rushing over to the scene, drawn by the collision. Clark slowly pulled his hands out from within the twisted steel of the hood, and stumbled backward, dazed and confused.

"Clark!" Pete grabbed him. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"I wanted to save the dog."

"What?"

"The dog!"

"Clark… what dog?"

"It… it was right there just a minute ago." Clark pointed to where he had seen it standing, plain as day.

"Kid, there wasn't anything on that road but gravel!" The truck driver screamed, still enraged.

"Dude…" Pete looked over the distance between the road and the locker rooms. At least two hundred feet. "How did you even get over here that fast?"

"I- I have no idea."

There were loud murmurs among the crowd now. "What a freak!"

"Did you see that?"

"How did he do that?"

"Dude, Kent's on steroids!"

"Is he delusional or what?"

"Who is his dealer? I need some of whatever he's on!"

Pete pushed through the crowd quickly, helping a dazed Clark along. "Seriously, how did you stop that truck?"

"Pete… I have no idea."

**Office of Lex Luthor **

"Everything went according to plan." Luthor smiled. "Our correspondent in Smallville is already preparing the final necessities, and now the President himself has given us approval to do as please."

"**What** **of the** **general**?" Asked an omnipresent voice, originating form a source that could not be seen through human eyes.

"General Lane? He's an imbecile. Easily manipulated. As long as we keep him blind to what we're _really _doing in Smallville, he will pose no threat."

** "Good. And this correspondent of yours, you are certain he can be trusted?"**

"Mr. Morgan Edge can never say no to a paycheck. As long as we keep a portion of the revenue stream flowing his way, he'll do whatever we tell him." Luthor looked out his massive office window, onto the sprawling city of Metropolis which, if his plans were realized, would eventually be under his rule… along with everything else. "In no time at all, the Doomsday Weapon will be ours… _master_."

**A/N: And so it begins! We'll see more of the story unfold soon, and uncover the Infinite DCU truth about Clark Kent. I promise you, it will be nothing like you've ever seen before. So keep on reading (and reviewing)!**

**As a quick side note, have you noticed that there are already 3 characters in this named John? DC is really not very creative with their names. I've distinguished them a bit, as far as spelling goes (John, Jon, Jonathon) to help you all keep track more easily.**


	2. Ambush

Chapter Two: Ambush

"Pete, for the last time, _it just happened_." Clark sighed, having made this claim at least a dozen times already.

"So you didn't do anything special at all when you stopped a moving truck with your bare hands? Is that what I'm hearing?" Pete questioned as he positioned himself for his next shot, and launched the basketball into the hoop nailed above the door of the barn on the Kent Farm.

"I don't know what happened. It's all a blur."

"Well, we've all seen you get pissed off and hit stuff before." Pete shrugged. "Maybe you were just so pissed at Corben that you pulled a Hulk-Smash or something?"

"Pete, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Clark grumbled, rebounding the ball.

"I'm just trying to be helpful." Pete shrugged. "What are you going to do when your parents find out about this?"

"Who says they're going to find out?"

"Clark, this is a really small town, and some freak kid just pulverized a three ton pickup. They are going to find out at some point."

"Well you know my dad." Clark sighed, "He'll probably make me pay for the repairs or something stupid like that."

"Damn him, with his strict moral code and sense of duty." Put said with an overly-sarcastic tone of voice.

"Can we please be serious for a minute here, Pete? I'm trying to figure this out."

"Are you on steroids?"

"I'm pretty sure I would tell you if I were on steroids."

"Just answer the question Clark."

"No Pete, I'm not. Though this _extremely _sexy physique of mine might lead some to suspect otherwise, this really is just the result of hard work."

"Alright then…" Pete said thoughtfully, "You on Jacked?"

"Pete, Jacked is a steroid."

"No it isn't. It's a step down from steroids."

"No."

"Good. I tried that stuff before a workout once; I went home and puked fourteen times."

"Focus, Pete."

"Sorry." Pete took another shot, this one bouncing defiantly off the rim, earning a scowl from the young athlete. "Maybe it was just an adrenaline rush?"

"Adrenaline huh?"

"Yeah dude, people have been known to lift cars when they get hit with a big enough adrenaline rush. Maybe that's what happened?"

"That truck was doing forty five. Even if an adrenaline rush does explain the sudden burst of strength, my body should not have been sturdy enough to take that hit. I didn't even fall over."

"I guess." Pete sighed in agreement. "Have you recently been bitten by any radioactive animals?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Hit with a blast of gamma radiation?"

"Nope."

"Well I'm fresh out of ideas." Pete sunk another shot, making up for his previous miss and earning a satisfied grin. He then returned his attention to Clark. "Can you turn around a minute?"

"Why?" Clark raised an eyebrow.

"Just do it. I want to see something."

"Alright." Clark shrugged, and turned his back to Pete. "What now?"

"Just hold on." Pete retrieved the basketball, took aim, and launched it as hard as he could. The ball collided against the back of Clark's head with a resounding _thud_.

"Ah!" Clark lurched forward, clutching his skull.

"Did that hurt?" Pete inquired.

"Yes it hurt, you stupid dick!"

"Well then we can pretty much assume that this was just a freak accident, and that you'll never hulk-out again. Cool?"

"I suppose." Clark grunted, still unsure of himself.

"Maybe your real dad was a circus strong man or something." Pete shrugged. "The point is, you aren't turning into a monster or anything, so let's just put this past us?"

"I wish everyone else could be so forgetful."

"Oh yeah, you're going to run into trouble at school, no doubt about that. You'll probably have to take a drug test too. But… you'll pass, right?"

"Yes Pete, I'll pass."

"Good. Nothing to worry about then, other than some bullying here and there, but nothing you aren't used to."

"Thank you Pete, you are a _wonderful _motivator."

"No problem bro." Pete grinned just before his cell phone made a loud _ding_. He looked down at the screen, quickly read over the text message, and said, "I've gotta' get home."

"Already?" Clark frowned. "It's still early."

"My dad's been pissing me off lately. It's like he's on his period or something." Pete shrugged, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Give me a ride?"

"Fine." Clark grumbled. "Why don't you just get your own license?"

"Because I have you to drive me around."

"Get in the truck freeloader." Clark looked toward his truck, and for a split second, he saw the wolf again. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"That wolf."

"A wolf… in the middle of the day… in Kansas?" Pete frowned, "Clark, are you sure you're okay dude?"

"Fine." Clark lied. He wasn't sure at all.

The two approached the truck, Pete hopping into the passenger side as usual, with Clark taking the driver's seat. After three attempts, he was able to start the old, battered vehicle, and took off down the driveway.

**Old Smallville Paper Mill**

Morgan Edge was a respectable enough businessman in Smallville. He owned the Smallville Times, the local newspaper. However, any money he actually made off of the paper was pocket change compared to the fruits of his true exploits…

"Mr. Edge." A large, brutish man with stony-colored skin said in a tone that carried an air of respect. "I have somethin' to tell you."

"Were you thinking again, Brute?" Morgan Edge flashed his overly eccentric smile, but his eyes glared with an element of danger. "I thought I told you not to do that. You work for Intergang for one purpose, and one purpose only; to break whoever I tell you to break."

"I think you really will want to hear this, boss." Contradicted Shiv, a much smaller man who had entered the room behind Brute. He had beady eyes, like that of a rat, and his hair was slicked back and dyed a dark shade of purple.

"Make it quick." Edge sighed. "I have a… business partner from Metropolis coming to visit soon, and I would very much prefer to have you urchins out of my office."

"We think we found a new meta, boss." Brute said slowly, as if he had to contemplate each word for several seconds before allowing it to escape from his lips.

"Right here in Smallville." Added Shiv.

"Gentleman, I am the leader of Intergang. In case you were unaware, Intergang is _the _largest criminal organization of the modern world, consisting of a massive cadre of metahumans whom I can draw from at will. Why would I be interested in some small dumb hillbilly who might have some powers?"

"Because he's powerful, boss." Shiv answered. "Word on the street is, this kid stopped a pickup truck with his bare hands. Wasn't even hurt."

"Rumors tend to be exaggerated, my friends." Morgan Edge leaned back in his chair and light a cigar. "However, if these rumors prove true, it would be nice to have him around. Especially with the DMA moving into town along with Luthor. I could use another enforcer to keep the feds off my tail." Edge took a long puff on his cigar, exhaling a smoke ring, and pointed the cigar at Brute. "Find this kid. Test him out; see if he's worth my time. If not, kill him. Understood?"

"Yeah boss." Brute nodded, and then left the room, having to duck under the doorframe to do so.

"Boss, Brute's gonna' tear that kid apart." Shiv muttered.

"I know that." Edge laughed. "What's this kid's name? I need to know who I'll be writing an obituary for in tomorrow's paper."

"Clark Kent boss. The kid's name is Clark Kent."

**Lex Luthor's Private Jet**

"We're approaching Smallville, Mr. Luthor." Announced Mercy, Lex's private assistant.

"I know. I did the calculations for flight time in my head." Luthor answered dryly. "I trust General Lane will be there waiting for us?"

"He wishes to oversee your project in Smallville, yes." Mercy nodded.

"What an annoyance." Luthor scowled. "Unfortunately, I'll have to keep the old bastard alive for a little bit longer. I can't afford to lose government support for this particular project. Not until stage 3, anyway."

**Smallville Airfield **

General Sam Lane watched Lex Luthor's private jet near the landing strip. There was no actual airport in Smallville, but one of the town's resident's had used to own a small biplane which he built his own runway for. His property had been temporarily seized by the government to allow for Luthor's direct landing.

"Here comes Mr. Clean." General Lane scowled. Then he looked over to Officer Jim Harper, a specially trained operative from the CADMUS initiative.

Jim Harper had grown up in the Suicide Slums of Metropolis, committing petty crimes in his youth, but went on to become a police officer. Later, Jim signed up for the CADMUS initiative, a project run by a branch-cell of S.T.A.R. Labs. The CADMUS initiative was to create genetically engineered super soldiers. Jim was the only successful test subject.

He now possessed strength, speed, endurance and reflexes far beyond that of a normal human being, and had carried out several black ops operations for the government. Most recently, he had joined the DMA (Department of Metahuman Affairs) to crack down on Intergang, a criminal organization of metahumans. Recent evidence had led Jim to believe that the leader of Intergang could be hiding out in Smallville. This information combined with Luthor's sudden interest in the town seemed like too much of a coincidence to General Lane.

"Listen Harper, I don't trust this guy." General Lane nodded to Luthor's jet.

"Understood sir." Jim nodded.

"I understand you're here to find information on Intergang, but here's the deal… I want you to keep an eye on Lex Luthor. I have a strange feeling that Intergang won't be far."

"Yes sir." Jim agreed, looking over to the jet to see Lex Luthor exiting, with Mercy at his heels. "I won't let him out of my sight."

**Outskirts of Town**

Clark's rusted, beaten up truck rolled up to the drive of Pete Ross's home. Pete lived on the edges of Smallville, in a little subdivision famous for home invasions. From inside Pete's house, screams could be heard.

"My parents are fighting again." Pete sighed, a world-weary expression on his face.

"I thought they were working things out?" Clark asked.

"They are. My dad quit hitting her now. Except when he's drunk."

"Pete… if you want to stay the night or something-"

"No Clark, it's cool." Pete faked a smile. "I'm used to hearing them fight."

"See you tomorrow then."

"Yup. Don't pulverize any more vehicles."

"I'll try." Clark grinned.

Pete exited the truck and walked reluctantly into his house, filled with screams and intoxication. He had always had a rough home life. On the weekends Pete practically lived at Clark's house, just to get away from it all.

Clark thought about this as he drove home. His parents had probably heard about the incident by then. Word travels fast when there are only a hundred people in a town. In no mood to go straight home and answer a string of questions from his undoubtedly furious father, Clark decided to take an alternative route. He drove along several back roads, through the woods where the chances of even seeing another human being were very limited. There were a few houses out in the woods, but they all had long driveways and were buried deep into the trees, to the point where they could hardly even be noticed.

Aside from the violent potholes in the one-lane gravel road, Clark enjoyed the scenic route. He enjoyed being isolated, not that it was anything new to him. Clark had always felt crushingly alone. He'd tried to explain it all to Pete before, but he knew his friend would never understand. Pete had a natural charm that made everyone automatically like him. Pete never had to feel like an outsider, despite being one of only two African American kids at the ridiculously-under populated Smallville High. Pete was like gravity; everyone just drifted toward him, naturally.

Clark, on the other hand, had never felt that sense of belonging. For whatever reason, he'd never felt the same as everyone else. There was always something different, deep down inside of him. Something that aggressively told him he didn't belong. Not even with his parents. He was their adopted son, after all. He knew they loved him, and he loved them too, but he still never felt like he was _right _to be their son. Not even Clark understood what, but something inside of him was fundamentally different from everyone else around him… and he could sense it. No matter where Clark went, he could never belong.

Clark's thoughts were interrupted when, suddenly, a massive black shape appeared on the road in front of him. "What the he-" Clark was cut off as a gigantic, ashy gray hand plummeted into the hood of his truck and ripped out the motor!

Before Clark could even register what was happening, another hand blasted through his windshield and ripped Clark out of the driver's seat. Clark's face was suddenly lathered in mud, and he realized that he had been thrown to the ground. He looked up just in time to see the giant flipping his truck over on its back, tossing it around as if it were a Tonka truck.

The beast turned around, and Clark finally got a look at its marred, scarred up face. A wave of panic rushed over him, and he could hear his own heartbeat through his chest. The monster lumbered toward him, wearing a sadistic grin. "Look familiar kid?" It nodded to the ruined truck. "Believe me, you're about to look a whole lot worse."


	3. A Contest of Strength

Chapter Three: A Contest of Strenght

Clark raised his head slowly, awestruck by the sheer size of the attacker. The grey-skinned beast of a man stood at least eight feet tall, his body a thick wall of muscle. "You just gonna' sit there, punk?" He growled, "Fine then. My move."

With surprising speed, the man-beast who called himself Brute lunged at Clark. A large fist made contact with Clark's face and sent him barreling into a nearby tree. There was a violent snap as the tree split under the force of the impact, drawing an agonized scream from the teenager. A dull, throbbing pain dominated his bloodied face. "Come on runt, where's that super strength I heard about?" Brute taunted.

The fear which enraptured Clark began to dissipate, replaced by fury. Clark had been pushed around all his life. By bullies, by coaches, and now by monsters. Brute was just a bigger, meaner Jon Corben. The anger welled up inside Clark as it had so many times before. All the holes he'd punched in his wall, all the hours spent on a punching bag, had been accompanied by the feelings of repressed rage that Clark knew all too well.

As Brute prepared to throw another punch, Clark allowed his instincts to take over, and he exploded. He swept out of the way as Brute's fist struck the tree, snapping it completely in half. Surprised by the dodge, Brute faltered for a moment. And in that moment, Clark threw a punch. He couldn't reach Brute's face, so he settled for the ribs. To the surprise of even Clark himself, the impact was greeted by the loud crunch of bone snapping.

Brute nearly doubled over and unleashed a wail, although Clark suspected it was fueled more by anger than pain. Deciding not to allow Brute the chance to recuperate, Clark pressed his palms against Brute's torso and heaved with all his might, flinging the monster into the ruins of his truck. Brute struck the wrecked vehicle with a powerful collision, and his painful grunt bolstered Clark's confidence.

Clark lunged again, but this time Brute had anticipated the maneuver. Swiftly, Brute ripped the door from the remains of Clark's truck and flung it outward, bashing Clark in the jaw. Clark hit the mud again, spitting up blood from the inside of his mouth. Brute brought the door down toward Clark's neck, but he rolled out of the way. The door plunged into the ground, and without hesitation Clark launched his foot through it, catching Brute in the stomach. Brute stumbled a few inches backward.

Clark took advantage of his opponent's moment of disorientation. He leapt up and planted his foot on the top of the door, using it as leverage to catapult himself up higher. Now level with Brute's face, Clark could finally get in a good shot. He flung a right hook square into Brute's nose, drawing a fountain of blood.

At the same instant, Brute swung his arm to the left and struck Clark out of the air. Both contenders hit opposite ends of the road with violent landings. Clark wobbled onto his feet, wiped the blood from his chin and looked back at his opponent. His fury-driven courage was beginning to ware off, and the cold embrace of fear slowly crept over him, clamping his composure like a vice.

Brute stood up a moment later. A crimson puddle had formed beneath him, and he was still dazed from Clark's punch. Clark quickly realized that while Brute possessed incredible strength, his endurance was no more than that of a regular (albeit very tough) man, nor was his pain threshold. Clark, on the other hand, seemed to be shrugging off Brute's blows with relative ease. The impact hurt, but there seemed to be no lasting consequences on his body. While this completely baffled him, he was immeasurably grateful for it.

"Alright asswipe," Clark cracked his knuckles, "Let's get this over with." Clark moved against his fear and took hold of the only object separating him and his adversary; the ruined body of his truck. With shocking ease, Clark raised the three-quarter-ton truck off the ground and heaved it at Brute with all his might.

The vehicle struck Brute head on, thrown with expert precision, and catapulted the assailant off of the roadside. Brute hit the bottom of a nearby ravine forcefully, and did not get back up. Clark waited a moment for the reality to catch up to him, and suddenly his knees buckled. _I was just attacked by an eight-foot roid-monster and beat him in a fight… with my truck. What the hell is going on?_

Clark nearly hyperventilated, but closed his eyes and forced himself into a semi-calm state. His truck was totaled; he would have to walk home. It was already past his curfew, his parents would be pissed. They'd be even more pissed when he showed up late looking like he had been in a bar fight. And when they found out the truck had been wrecked, they'd be exponentially pissed. Plus, if they'd heard about him destroying someone _else's _truck at football practice, their pissed-off meters would reach incalculable levels.

"So not worth it," Clark muttered to himself, opting to avoid going home all together for the time being. Staying out all night would no doubt only add to the trouble he would be in, but after the ordeal he had just been through, he'd deciding that any punishment his parents could dish out was acceptable. Especially when he had things to do that were so much more important. Primarily, figuring out what the hell was going on.

**Luthor's Mansion**

For his business in Smallville, Lex Luthor had constructed a mansion of acceptable size just outside the town limits. It was nothing compared to his mountainous castle in Metropolis, but it would suffice for the time being.

Luthor looked out the window on the long, green plains that dominated Smallville's landscape. Something about the simplistic nature of it all brought on a sense of nostalgia. Perhaps it was being in a small town that reminded Lex of his small beginnings.

As Lex stewed over the memories of a skinny, red-haired boy growing up dirt poor in the Suicide Slums of Metropolis… the boy who would eventually kill his parents, and use their insurance money to launch his meteoric rise to power… there was a knock on the door. Luthor breathed a deep sigh, his thoughts having been disturbed, something which greatly annoyed him. "Come in," He declared, making no attempt to hide the daggers in his voice.

The large French doors were pushed open, and the imposing figure of General Sam Lane entered. "Mr. Luthor, a word?"

"Briefly, if you must."

"Have you ever heard of a man named Morgan Edge?"

"Not that I can recall," Luthor responded.

"I've had The Guardian checking out a criminal organization called Intergang, a syndicate composed of metahumans."

"Why should I care?"

"Well, recently Guardian has found evidence linking Intergang to this man, Morgan Edge… who just happens to own a newspaper here in Smallville. Intergang, prominent in Metropolis, has ties to a big shot in freaking Smallville, Kansas… the same place your Braniac Program tracked that alien DNA to. Coincidence?"

"Not likely, I suppose." Luthor allowed.

"It's also not a coincidence that the mutants who make up the roster of Intergang didn't start popping up until _after _the meteor shower that brought the Braniac Program to earth. We've suspected for a long time that the radiation from those meteors triggered the meta-gene in some people, but now we have evidence that they may have been accompanied by an actual alien life form… and all of it trails back to Morgan Edge."

"Clearly you are suspicious of the man, so let me ask, General… why are you standing here telling _me _this, when you could be devoting your time and _my _money to actually investigating him?" Luthor shot the general a dangerous glare.

General Lane frowned and said, "Just wanted to see if you were familiar with him, Mr. Luthor. I was curious as to what kind of characters a fellow like you chooses to spend his time with."

With that, General Lane turned and exited the room. As the door closed, Luthor withdrew a phone and quickly issued a call.

_"What is it?" _Answered a gruff voice.

"Make yourself scarce, Mr. Edge. The General is on to you."

_"Already? I thought you said he was a complete moron!"_

"He is, I assure you. His investigative agents, however, are a different matter entirely."

_"Well at any rate, he shouldn't be much of a threat."_

"No, it's his attack dog you want to watch out for. Jim Harper. He goes by The Guardian. He's been genetically engineered by S.T.A.R. Labs, and I trust he is well equipped to handle the majority of your… associates."

_"I've got more firepower than you might think, Luthor. You watch your ass, and I'll watch mine. Sound good to you?"_

"Just fine," Luthor grinned and returned the phone to his pocket. With a low chuckle, Luthor breathed, "And everything goes according to plan."

**Metropolis **

"You want me to do _what_?" Lois Lane shouted, her exasperation clear on her face. She slammed her palms down on the desk of Perry White, editor at the Daily Planet.

"It has the potential to be an interesting case," Perry repeated, attempting to maintain his calm. Lois was the only one of his employees who he didn't like to scream at.

"Perry, let's analyze this for a moment," Lois sat back in her chair. "I justgot promoted to Investigative Reporter. That's my dreamcareer! And I got there at the early age of twenty!"

"Yes, you're easily the youngest reporter we've ever had. I found your record highly impressive, and-"

"Let me finish Perry," Lois held up a hand to silence her superior. "I got my dream job as an Investigative Reporter for the Daily Planet, the largest newspaper in Metropolis… and for my first assignment; you want me to go to some hick town in Kansas and report on an archeological dig? Seriously?"

"Ms. Lane, listen to my reasoning for a moment. I have a strong suspicion that there's something else happening. Lex Luthor has never had any interest in archaeology before, and suddenly he's funding a massive project in, of all places, Kansas? And to top it all off, there are reports of heavy military occupation in the surrounding areas."

"Yes, it's all very suspicious. But it's happening in Littleville-"

"Smallville."

"Whatever. My point is, why would the people of Metropolis care about what happens over there? What makes you think they'll even want to read this story?"

"Because Lex Luthor is primarily stationed in Metropolis, and the city people will want to know what their patron saint is up to." Perry leaned forward in his chair. "Besides… your father is reported to be stationed in the Smallville area, heading the mysterious militarization there. Maybe he would be a bit more cooperative in interviewing his own daughter than some other reporter."

"Don't count on it," Lois muttered.

"Oh, and one more thing. I'm assigning you a photographer, in case you should find anything in Smallville worth a good picture."

"Who is it?"

Perry looked up toward the door and yelled, "Jimmy!"

The door creaked open, and a young man awkwardly stumbled inside, tripping over his own feet. His hair had auburn, nearly orange quality to it that complimented his freckles, bright green eyes and boyish face. "Jimmy Olsen, at your service." He announced enthusiastically.

"Wonderful," Lois groaned, looking back to Perry. "Not only do you put me on a boring case, but I'm stuck with the runt of the photography school litter."

"Don't be so quick to judge, Lois. Jimmy here has great promise."

Lois looked back at Jimmy and said, "How old are you kid?"

"Nineteen."

"Well," She smiled, "At least I'll have seniority over him." She stood up and headed for the door. "Come on kid, we've gotta' catch a flight to Hillbilly Hell."

**Pete Ross' House**

"Clark, are you stoned?" Pete frowned, having just been woken up by his panicked best friend, who had apparently climbed in through the window.

"No! I swear to God, Pete, I'm telling you exactly what happened."

"So… you were just driving along, and then a giant monster appeared and wrecked your truck, and then he smacked you around, but you have no injuries to show for it. And then you suddenly turned super strong and beat him up?"

"Yup."

"And then you came here, covered in mud, climbed up the gutter, broke into my room and woke me up to tell me all about it?"

"In a nutshell."

"Clark, you really need to quit football, bro. I think all the blows to the head are getting to you."

"Damn it Pete, do I need to show you what's left of my truck? Will that convince you that I'm telling the truth?"

"It might convince me that you went delusional and crashed into a tree or something."

"You know what? Just forget it." Clark turned and headed back for the window.

"Clark, hold on." Pete grabbed his shoulder. "I don't doubt that there's something weird going on with you. I just have no idea what it is."

Clark glanced back at his friend and, in the moonlight shining through the window, could see for the first time that Pete had a black eye. "What happened?"

"Huh?"

"Your eye."

"Oh," Pete dropped his gaze, "Nothing. I got between my parents earlier, and… you know."

"I guess both of us had a pretty shitty night," Clark sighed and sat down on the windowsill.

"So what do you think is going on?" Pete asked.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm a Meta?"

"Yeah, because those are _so _common in Smallville," Pete rolled his eyes.

"Well what else could explain it Pete? I was thrown so hard that I snapped a tree in half. That should have broken my spine. Instead, I got right back up and shrugged it off."

"Let's look at the facts, right?" Pete sighed. "The Green Meteor Shower was eighteen years ago. Ever since then, Metahumans have been popping up in different countries all over the world. It's not exactly an epidemic, but large enough to draw attention. And _you _just turned eighteen. So I suppose it's not impossible that you were exposed to radiation from the meteor shower as a baby. However, that doesn't explain why it's taken eighteen years for any signs to show up."

"Or why I'm being attacked by giant grey bodybuilders," Clark added.

"Has anything else unusual been happening to you?"

"Well… I've been seeing a wolf."

"A wolf?"

"Yeah. It just kind of appears at random times, and then it disappears."

"Alright, worth mentioning," Pete agreed.

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Pete finally spoke again. "Well, listen. We don't have any good way to figure out what's going on. We can, however, get your weirdo Meta powers under control."

"What do you mean?"

"We have to at least get the freaky strength thing figured out, so you don't like, tackle Jon Corben at football practice and shatter every bone in his body."

"That doesn't sound all that bad to tell you the truth."

"My point exactly," Pete grinned. "Obviously you don't have that strength all the time, or you would've been able to suck a bit less at basketball earlier."

"Get on with it, Pete."

"We need to learn how you turn it on and off, right? Give you control. And we can work upwards from there."

"How do you propose doing that?"

"Well, obviously, you and I are skipping practice tomorrow." Pete stood up and grinned. "Meet me in the field out by the lake tomorrow, after school. But until then, get out of my room Kent. I need my beauty sleep."

**Teaser: Clark begins to experiment with his powers in the next chapter, and we'll see some development as to just what Edge and Luthor are up to. Plus, Lois and Jimmy arrive in Smallville! **


	4. Dark Visitation

**Sorry for the wait. I'd like to say I have some significant excuse that would have freed me from any personal responsibility over this delay… but the truth is, I'm just lazy. That being said, I put a lot of effort into making this chapter worth the wait.**

**Also, there will be a few minor inconsistencies between this chapter and previous ones, but I do stress the word minor. Most of you probably won't even notice… this is just a heads up for those that do.**

Chapter Four: Dark Visitation 

In a remote desert, the scorching sun has long since set, being replaced with the punishing chill of the night. Any life to be found in this barren landscape has long since vanished into the darkness, awaiting morning.

The stars glimmer in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the withered sands. Suddenly, five brilliant beams of light bolt from within the clusters of stars and begin a rapid descent toward the ground below. The beams collide with a rocky plateau with overlooks the desert, landing almost simultaneously and throwing up a cascade of dust upon impact.

As the smoke clears away, the dim moonlight elucidates the forms which had fallen from the Heavens. Capsules. Five oblong, steel capsules, billowing smoke from the super-heated trip through the Earth's atmosphere. The light of the moon reflects off of the steel capsules, illuminating the area around them in a pool of silver glow.

With a metallic hiss, the doors of the capsules unlatch and begin to automatically push open. One by one the passengers step out into the shimmering silver glow. Five of them, total. Three males, two females. They are humanlike in appearance, but an inhuman ferocity adorns their eyes.

The tallest and most muscular of the men steps forward onto the very edge of the plateau, and basks in the moonlight. "I can already feel it…" He smiles, "My cells soaking up the energy. And this isn't even the direct dose! Just imagine the morning sunrise…"

"Calm yourself Jax-Ur," one of the women warns. "We cannot draw attention to ourselves until we are strong enough to handle it."

"I am well aware of that Faora," Jax-Ur turned around and faced the four behind him. "Remember, all of you, we have a mission. Stage one is finding Kal-El. We have no time to waste. We will begin our search immediately. Remain under the radar, and do not draw unnecessary attention to yourselves," Jax-Ur looked to a young, dark-haired male and said, "That includes_ you_, Az-Rel. No showboating."

"You take the fun out of everything Jax," Az-Rel smiled slyly. "What good is having power if you don't get to flaunt it in front of those who don't?"

"We lost transmission with the Braniac Unit several years ago. We do not currently know what the human's militaries are capable of," the third male chimed in. "Until we do, we will not invoke their attention."

"Well put, Kru-El," Jax-Ur nodded.

"You can flaunt your power on me as much as you want baby," the second girl said, clinging to Az-Rel. This girl was younger than Faora, but the same ferocity shown in her eyes.

"You can count on that Nadira," Az-Rel smiled.

"We move out at sunrise. We know that the Braniac Unit stopped transmitting where it crash landed in the city known as Metropolis. It is likely that Kal-El is there. We have to find him. Do I need to remind any of you what is at stake?" Jax-Ur questioned. "Obtaining Kal-El ensures the survival of our species. We will not allow Krypton to die."

As Jax-Ur turned back toward the rising sun, Kru-El muttered under his breath, "Even if Earth has to die in its place…"

…

"The truck was _stolen_?" Jonathon Kent gasped.

"Yeah. I had it parked at Pete's, and we were hanging out in his room listening to some music, and I came out… and it was gone," Clark lied carefully. He didn't like lying to his parents, but it seemed likely that telling them his truck was demolished by an eight foot monster would get him nowhere but a mental institution.

"I'll let the chief know," Jonathon sighed. "We'll have police on the lookout for it."

"This used to be such a nice neighborhood," Martha Kent shook her head in disgust.

"I suppose I'll be driving you to school today," Jonathon offered.

"Actually, dad… I thought I'd walk…"

"You're going to walk five miles when I have a car parked right in the garage?"

"Yeah. Stupid teenagers, right?"

"I suppose," Jonathon huffed, looking back down at his newspaper. "You should probably get going then."

Without another word, Clark grabbed himself some pop tarts and bolted out the door.

"Did they buy it?" Pete whispered, waiting for Clark outside.

"Yeah. I convinced them the truck was stolen, and they assume that's why I didn't come home last night," Clark answered.

"Good. We've got that problem out of the way."

"What's the plan, then?"

"We're going to hit the Weight Room and see how much you can lift now."

"Hold on, Pete… you're big plan was to skip school… so that we could go into the school and use the Weight Room? That seems… counterintuitive."

"I never said we were skipping school. We're eighteen now, remember? As legal adults, we can sign ourselves out when we please. And the Weight Room is always open to athletes."

"So if we're going to the school anyway… why did I have to turn down a ride from my dad?"

"Because your dad's scar smells like a mixture of cigar smoke and animal crap. We're better off walking."

"I'm never letting you make the plan again."

"Come on, this is a good plan!"

"This is a half-assed plan that I'm pretty sure you're making up as you go along."

"Do you want my help or not, Clark?"

"Yes."

"Then please adhere to the plan, and everything will work out for the best. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Almost on a daily basis."

"Super strength has not livened up your sense of humor, apparently."

…

Morgan Edge, philanthropic owner of the Smallville Times, and secretly the kingpin on the international crime organization known as Intergang, had just gotten off the phone with his new business partner Lex Luthor, discussing their plans. While Luthor manipulated the U.S. government into pushing their goals, Edge would control Intergang and work the angles of the plan which require a little more than manipulation of laws.

"Now…" Edge slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his expensive suit, "On to more immediate matters." Edge turned and walked professionally down the long stairwell leading into the basement beneath the printing press. Once there, Edge did a quick scan to make sure he wasn't being followed or monitored in any way. Then, he pulled a secret hatch in the floorboards, and descended into his _other _basement.

Blood layered the concrete floor and walls; some old and dry, some fresh and warm. A dim light hung above a wooden chair in the center of the room, tied to which was an emaciated teenager who looked as if he hadn't slept in months. The boy was a rainbow of bruises and lacerations, and blood trickled from his wounds onto the floor. The boy looked with his swollen, blackened eyes upon the man who approached him.

A third figure stepped out from the shadows behind the boy; this one was massive, his skin a steely gray color, his hands soaked in blood. "I've tortured him for several hours, Mr. Edge," said the gray giant.

"And you've done it beautifully, Anomaly," Edge nodded. "Why don't you take a break? I'd like to talk to this young lad here in private for a moment."

"Yes sir," Anomaly walked off, presumably going to wash the blood off of his hands.

Morgan Edge approached the bleeding boy tied to the chair. "Good morning Fredrick," Edge gave a dazzling business smile. "Can I call you Fred? 'Fredrick' just seems so needlessly formal. After all… I like to think of our relationship as intimate enough that we don't require such formality. Am I right, friend?"

"Somebody…" the boy heaved, "I'm going to kick your ass so hard that you'll taste your colon."

"Clever. That's what I like about you Fred; you're just so damn clever. So was your father. Speaking of which… why don't you tell us where your father is Fred? He's very important to our end goal, you see."

"You've already killed my mom…"

"Because she didn't cooperate. See where that gets you, Fred? Now, really, I think this will be much easier for everyone if you just tell us where your dad is, so we can get the ball rolling here!"

"I don't know where he is."

"Don't tell lies, Fred. Lying isn't good for anyone."

"Damn it, I really don't know!"

Edge seemed to study Fredrick for a moment. "How old are you, Fred?"

"Old enough to know that I shouldn't answer that question."

"Well, I could always call Anomaly back here and-"

"Sixteen. I'm sixteen. Almost seventeen."

"That's better," Edge leaned forward. "I'm going to let you go, Fred. But you aren't free. Until this whole mess with your father is straightened out… you belong to me as collateral. And I could certainly use your… _talents_."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're going to help me, Fred. More specifically, your powers are."

"What do I have to do…?"

"It's simple. There's a student at Smallville High… goes by the name of Clark Kent. He's recently taken out one of my men. Not a very bright one, mind you, but quite a brute, you might say. And Clark not only beat him… he destroyed him. That's peaked my interest. So what I want you to do, Fred, is… keep an eye on this Clark Kent for me. You do that, and I'll make sure you go free as soon as possible."

"It's a deal."

"Good. Oh… and you go by Riot, now."

"Riot…?"

"It's your codename," Edge untied the restraints holding the boy to the chair. "Welcome to Intergang."

…

The moment Clark entered Smallville Sr. High, he knew it was going to be a terrible day. A barrage of whispers assaulted his hearing as the swarms of adolescents shot him their most demeaning of stares. "What a freak-"

"-stopped the truck with his bare hands!"

"Steroids for sure-"

"-probably adopted from space or something!"

"They're all talking about me," Clark frowned.

"Are you really surprised?" Pete grinned, "It's not every day a football player flashes across the field and punches a moving truck into submission because he thought he was saving some invisible dog."

"Fair enough."

"Just ignore them dude. Pretty soon some A-list couple will break up, or some cheerleader will get pregnant, and these locusts will have something new to gossip about."

"Yeah. Probably."

"Mr. Kent," a firm but nasally voice rang out from behind. "I noticed you've signed out of all your classes in advanced today."

"Yes sir," Clark turned around to face the principal. "I have straight A's at the moment sir, so I thought that it wouldn't hurt to spend a day in the Weight Room, preparing for the game, you know?" Clark flashed his best charming smile. He knew that Principle Wagner was an avid football enthusiast, and the promise of an actual victory for Smallville High may have been enough to dissuade his skepticism.

"Very well. I'll hold you to that statement, Mr. Kent. Try not to start a fight this time."

Clark pursed his lips. He was normally a pretty well-behaved student… but he was known to have a short fuse. He had a reputation for getting into fights. And an even greater reputation for losing them. It wasn't that he was a wimp; quite the opposite actually. Clark found that in most cases he could beat just about anybody he came across. It was that, when the anger subsided and Clark found himself actually in the middle of a fight… he would always realize that he didn't actually _want _to win. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to make sure they wouldn't hurt him.

"I've never started one, sir."

"Hard to believe, considering the number of altercations you've been involved in during your four years with us. What was it… thirteen total?"

"Twelve."

"Counting your little dispute with Jon Corben yesterday?"

"…Thirteen."

"The only reason you were never expelled, Mr. Kent, is that your test scores have always been remarkable. With a smaller group of students like we have here at Smallville High, straight A students are few and far between. To kick you out would be to sacrifice state funding."

"I'll stay out of trouble, sir."

"Again; I'll hold you to that."

Finally, the principal turned and left Clark to his business. Clark fell against his locker and sighed. "There's one reason I cannot wait for graduation. I've been fed up with that guy since day one."

"He never has been too fond of you, has he?" Pete smiled. "Then again, when a kid with a Juvenile record walks in his door and starts throwing punches on the first day of freshman year, it probably leaves a bad impression."

"It was the second day! And that kid shouldn't have been shoving me around. And what is the matter with you anyway? You know not to mention my record in public, Pete."

"Come on, nobody's going to hear us. They're too busy talking about you already."

"Not helping."

"Wasn't trying to," Pete smiled and looked down the hall. "I'm going to hit the bathroom real quick."

As Pete disappeared into the rapidly thinning sea of students, Clark began to notice something odd; normally the halls fell into silence as students disappeared into their classrooms. But today, the chatter seemed to be rapidly growing louder.

With each passing second Clark could hear more detailed, more crisply, all of the voices filling the building. Soon, the volume was unbearable.

"Alright class today we're-"

"-gonna' get so high dude!"

"Did you hear about Jon and Lana?"

"-wiped out on my board."

"-Kent's truck got stolen!"

Rapidly, the noises rushed in, bashing against Clark's eardrums. He covered his ears, but it did no good. Every heartbeat, every whisper, every laugh, every little breath or tap of a pencil or click of a pen… the noises assaulted his hearing from all directions, throwing Clark into an ocean of skull-splitting agony.

With his hands clutching his skull, Clark bolted down the hallway and practically flew out the door into the back parking lot, but found it impossible to escape the chatter. Clark collapsed on the concrete. The noise rippled through his head, thundering into his ears and blasting his senses into submission.

"Clark? Clark, is that you?" A vague voice was saying, off on the cusp of the noise. _Pete_? Clark thought. _No… to feminine. Who is this?_

Clark attempted to focus in on that one, singular voice which beckoned his attention. It felt like tuning a radio inside of his head; he found that he could clumsily zero in and out of different fields of hearing, pick up and drop different sounds at a whim. Eventually, he finally found the station he was looking for. The voice of the beautiful redhead behind him. "Clark? Are you ok?"

"Lana…" he breathed. "Uh… yeah. I'm fine."

"Then… what was with the shrieking?" She gave an amused smile.

"I… uh…" Clark looked around uncomfortably. "Lana, if it's all the same to you, I'd really like to quit while I'm ahead."

Lana laughed, giving a pleasant roll of the eyes. "Ok, well… bye."

"Yeah."

As she walked away, Clark thought to himself, _Wonderful, Kent. First time you speak to her in years… and you make yourself look like a complete effing lunatic._

Clark was preparing to return to the school, when out the corner of his eye, he noticed something at the other end of the parking lot. A short, emaciated boy with bloodshot eyes and brittle hair. He was shaking violently, but his gaze was fixated on Clark in a manner that evoked a strong feeling of unease. The moment Clark met his gaze, the boy pulled up the hood of his black hoodie, shoved his hands in his pockets, turned around and walked away quickly. "Weird…" Clark muttered.

Clark re-entered the building, channeling virtually all of his concentration into blocking out the cascade of noise around him. He was so focused on this matter, in fact, that he didn't even realize Pete was in front of him until he spoke. "What's your deal? Why did I hear screaming while I was trying to take a piss?"

"I heard everything, Pete."

"About what?"

"_Everything. _I could hear every heartbeat like a drum inside my skull. I could hear the buttons click as people were texting, every clench of the teeth as people chewed gum… I'm pretty sure I could even hear people talking on their cellphones, in their cars, a mile away!"

Pete stared at his friend a moment, apparently sizing up the claim. "Well you're turning into a regular Swiss Army Knife, with all the things you can do."

"If only I could figure out how turn these powers on and off… rather than just popping up whenever they please."

"Well work on that. For now… here," Pete handed Clark his iPod. "To block out all the background noise."

"Good idea," Clark nodded, slipping the ear buds in.

"Ok, there's one problem tackled. Now… let's find out how much you can lift."

…

John Henry Irons had come a long way in the eighteen years since the government had come to claim the infant-carrying space pod that had landed on his doorstep. Back then, John had been a sixteen year old kid working part time an auto repair shop.

Now, at the age of thirty-four, John Henry had become one of the highest paid engineers at AmerTek, a company which supplied virtually all of the machinery and equipment needed by government agencies; including weaponry.

In John's private workshop area within the Metropolis AmerTek building, he was hard at work on a little pet project of his; something he called Project Steel. In the midst of John's deep thought, there was a sudden, loud rapping on the door. John didn't bother to respond. All employees at AmerTek knew not to disturb John in his workshop unless it was for reasons of utmost importance; and if that were they case, they would have paged him rather than knock on the door.

There was another knock, even more aggressive this time. John sighed, and looked up at the door. "Who's there?"

Suddenly, the door burst off of its hinges and crashed onto the floor in the form a dented hunk of scrap. Through the now empty doorframe stepped a tall, well-built, brown-haired young man… with glowering red eyes.

"Wh- how did you get in here?" John stammered, "Security should have-"

"Oh, you mean this fat piece of shit?" The red-eyed man leered. From the floor behind him he lifted the Chief of Security at the AmerTek building… bloody and disemboweled. The man tossed his victim onto the floor in front of John. "You'll find most of your employees in a similar predicament."

"What the hell…" John was trembling now, backing away as far as he could get.

"They call me Az-Rel," the man grinned. "And I think you and I can help each other."

Suddenly, a woman appeared next to Az-Rel, her beautiful face covered in blood from the slaughter. "This lovely lady is Nadira In-Ze," Az-Rel said with utmost formality. "Now that introductions are out of the way, let's get down to business, shall we John?"

"What do you want?" John grit his teeth.

"Eighteen years ago, an escape pod from the planet Krypton crash-landed in the garage you were working at. That pod was carrying an infant child. It is our understanding that your military arrived to extract the pod… however, our intel reveals that they did not obtain the child. Which, of course, leads us to two possible conclusions, John. One: You still have it. Two: You gave it away. So, answer me very plainly… what happened to the child?"

"You see…" John stammered, reaching slowly behind him. As his hand found its grip, he smiled. "You can go to Hell, freak." With a sudden burst of might, John pulled forth the hammer he had crafted and hurled it at Az-Rel with expert precision. The hammer sailed toward Az-Rel's head.

With a grin, Az-Rel grabbed the hammer in mid-flight. "Did you _really _think that would work?" He taunted.

"No…" John grinned, "But I was certain that _this_ would." John hit a button on the transmitter he had built, and suddenly the hammer sent a powerful electric surge through Az-Rel's body. Az-Rel let out a pained grunt as the wave of electricity bolted through his system, causing him to drop the hammer and have an aggressive muscle spasm that he fought with all his might to keep under control.

"Cute," He growled furiously. His grip crumpled the hammer into a wad of scrap, and he glanced to his partner. "Nadira, go crazy."

"With pleasure, baby." Nadira suddenly blurred toward John with tremendous speed. She grabbed his hand in hers and crushed. The sound of bone shattering rang through the work shop as John's hand, and the transmitter in it, were both crushed into oblivion. John let out a wail of agony and dropped to his knees. Nadira immediately proceeded to break his wrist, inciting another shriek. She then snapped his elbow like a twig, and John nearly fainted from the pain. He fell as low to the floor as she would allow, trembling and pale. Nadira raised her foot, smiling maniacally, and stomped with all the force she could muster onto John's shoulder. There was a thundering crunch, muffled only by John's tortured cries. His shoulder collapsed like paper under Nadira's massive strength. "Now," she hissed, "Are you going to tell us what we want to know?"

"Not… a chance…" John huffed, his vision bleary. _Don't let them win_, he thought bitterly. _Even if it kills you. Die with your dignity._

"So noble… if I wasn't already so turned on from hurting you, I might find that attractive," Nadira smiled. She flung her hand forward, and with an ease that made John sick to his stomach, shattered his collar bone. John bit his lip to keep from screaming again as a tidal wave of pain roared through every fiber of his being. "You're neck's next in line, sweetie. I suggest you answer the question quick."

With blood running down his face from biting his lip so hard, John maintained a remarkable stoicism, and said nothing. "You won't kill me… as long as I have the information you need…"

Az-Rel grinned. "It seems we're at a stalemate, then. That's how it works in a fair fight. Unfortunately for you… I don't play fair." Az-Rel suddenly fired a beam of heat vision onto John's last remaining good hand, and burned off three fingers in one clean swipe. The smoldering, charred fingers dropped to the floor and crumbled. John was fighting back tears, trembling from pain, forcing himself not to black out.

Nadira reached down, pinched two fingers around one of John's ribs, and clenched. The rib snapped like a tooth pick, firing more pain yet and shaking the fortitude of John's already weakening will. "Come on… it's no fun when you resist," Nadira whispered soothingly. "Where's that pretty little scream at? I want to hear it some more," she snapped another one of his ribs.

Az-Rel fired more heat vision, and this time sliced off John's hand at the wrist. A fountain of blood began to re-paint the walls, and John could contain it no longer. He shrieked like he never had before. "There we go!" Nadira cried cheerfully, lifting John into the air with one hand and dangling him there, watching him bleed. She bawled her free hand into a fist, and launched it into John's gut, shattering all of his remaining ribs in one violent quake of force.

John vomited, nearly blacking out now. "I'll ask one more time, before we start to get really mean…" Nadira hissed, "What did you do with Kal-El? What did you do with the baby?"

"A- adoption…" John coughed.

"Who adopted him?"

"Ugh…"

"Who!" Nadira shook him to keep him conscious.

"Family in Kansas… the Kent's…"

"That's better," Nadira grinned. She dropped him onto the floor and turned back to Az-Rel. "That was fun. We should do it more often."

"Count on it baby," Az-Rel replied, his eyes still burning red with heat vision. Nadira, her face caked in blood, kissed Az-Rel hungrily, their tongues wrestling for dominance. "Signal Jax-Ur," she whispered, "Tell him we're going to Kansas."

The two then flew off, simply smashing holes through the ceiling as they ascended, flying fast into the sky. And on the floor, a barely living John wallowed in a pool of his own blood, trying to dial 911 into his cell phone with only one, broken hand.

**...**

Clark had been at it for several hours, with Metallica blasting in his ears at full volume, benching as much weight as he could manage. As usual, he maxed out around two-hundred and twenty pounds. Finally, Clark sat up, drenched in sweat, and pulled out the ear buds. "It's not working, Pete."

"Come on Clark, 220 is a lot of weight."

"Last night I lifted a truck without breaking a sweat. Now I can barely break two hundred pounds without crapping myself. I don't know… maybe it was only temporary…"

"Or…" Pete seemed to think for a moment. "Maybe it only happens when you need it."

"Huh?"

"Think about it… when you stopped that truck, it was because that dog was about to get killed. You know… the dog that only you saw."

"Yeah."

"And when you went all super-dude last night, you were in mortal peril being attacked by a monster."

"Yeah…"

"I think maybe it's a reactive thing. Kind of like how Possums play dead when they're scared… you turn into a human tank. But then when your adrenaline stops flowing, it's like a shut off valve. Am I right?"

"I guess."

"But that's good news. Because if there's a shut off, it means it can also be turned on. We just need to get you to the point that you can do it yourself."

"Maybe I don't want to turn it on, Pete."

"What do you mean?"

"It's terrifying, having powers like these. You wouldn't really understand unless it was you in my place… the power to destroy so easily, with no idea where it comes from or why it's happening… it scares the hell out of me. I'd much rather just keep being… me."

"Well…" Pete seemed to ponder that notion for a moment. "Then we still need to work with it."

"Why?"

"Because if you can shut it off and on manually, then you don't have to worry about your powers coming out on accident, right? Because you'll be able to keep them off?"

"That… may actually be the most logical thing you've ever said."

"You need to have more faith in me Kent," Pete grinned just as the lunch bell rang. "Come on, let's go get lunch. And shower off first, you smell ass. Not the good, feminine kind either."

"I have a feeling that even the nicest asses stink, Pete."

"What are you talking about? Everybody knows that only ugly girls poop."

"That compliment I just gave you, about saying logical things? You just completely undid that."

…

In the cafeteria, Clark and Pete sat at their own table, as was per usual. But today, Clark didn't feel much like eating. He was far more interested in experimenting with his newfound hearing capabilities. He used the lunchroom chatter as the perfect testing grounds; tuning in on one specific conversation on the other side of the room.

"You can hear _everything_?" Pete marveled.

"Yeah, once I get focused in on it. It's sort of like tuning a radio in my head."

"That is so cool," Pete glanced to a table full of cheerleaders on the other side of the room. "Ok… what are they saying?"

Clark took a moment to zero in on their voices. Almost immediately, he made a horrified face and recoiled. "They're talking about tampons."

"Ok…" Pete looked around the room, and spied a cute blonde standing near the salad bar, whispering to a friend. "What about her?"

"Hang on…" Clark focused for a moment. "She's talking about how much of a buck toothed loser Pete Ross is. Go figure."

"That's not funny!" Pete snapped, shooting the paper from his straw into Clark's head. Then a wave of insecurity set in. "You were kidding, right?"

There was no response from Clark. His attention was already elsewhere. Specifically, the pale boy with bloodshot eyes and a sideways cap, sitting alone across the cafeteria, staring at Clark with a haunting gaze.

"Who is that?" Clark whispered.

"Who?"

"The guy who looks like he forgot how to sleep. Staring at me across the room. Sweatshirt, hat."

"I have no idea," Pete replied. "But I know how to found out."

Pete looked further down their table and spied Chloe Sullivan, the Oracle of Smallville High. Chloe was a savant for gossip, and always knew the latest secrets about everyone. Pete stood up, rolled the foil from his sub into a ball, and whipped it at Chloe's head. The moment the foil boil collided, he had her attention, and waved her over.

Vaguely, Clark heard Chloe say "hang on a sec," to one of her friends in a rather irritated fashion.

Chloe approached Pete, the curiosity in her eyes outweighing the frustration. "There are better ways to ask for a girl's attention, Mr. Ross."

"Better ways that happen to be slower."

"What's the big rush?"

"I just need to know something about someone."

Chloe gave a devious smile. "Then you've come to the right place. I know everything about everyone."

Pete nodded to the pale boy, still watching Clark intently. "Who is that kid?"

"Him?" Chloe frowned, apparently not overly enthused about this particular piece of gossip. "He's a new kid, just started here today. Kind of creepy, obviously a stoner. His name is Fredrick Jones. Apparently his dad is some big-shot at S.T.A.R. Labs… so why he moved to Smallville is a mystery."

"Is that all?" Clark chimed in.

"That's all I've got for now," Chloe shrugged.

"Ok, thanks Chloe," Pete nodded.

"Anytime. Just keep in mind that your freebies are limited. Pretty soon I'll be requiring monetary compensation for my services."

With that, Chloe turned and walked back off to her friends. Pete looked to Clark with a grin. "She is such a badass."

Clark smiled. "You got a little crush going on there, Pete?"

"Nah. I'd rather not date a girl who probably has more dirt on me than I even know about. I'm just saying."

Clark glanced back at Fredrick, who had finally turned his attention to something other than Clark; primarily the table, where his head was firmly rested as if trying to sleep.

"Fredrick Jones," Clark repeated. "Interesting character."

"Why so interested in him, anyway?"

"I saw him earlier, watching me the same way."

"Can't blame him I guess. You're a good looking dude."

"Shut up, Pete."

…

Jax-Ur approached the Kent Farm slowly, a cat-like finesse in his step. Soon he was at their doorstep, and knocked casually. With a creek, the door came open, and on the other side was Jonathon Kent. "Hi," Jonathon greeted Jax-Ur with a smile.

"Hello, Mr. Kent I presume?" Jax-Ur put on his best smile.

"Yes," Jonathon nodded. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Jack Urman," he recited the irritatingly long human name which he had adopted. Male Kryptonian names were only two syllables. Earth names were more long-winded and frustrating. He continued by flashing a forged FBI badge. "I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"FBI?" Jonathon's eyes lit up, "Is… this about my son's stolen truck?"

"...Yes, it is," Jax-Ur pursed his lips. "I'd just like to ask a few questions about your son."

**A/N: Everything really heats up in the next chapter. What do I mean by that? Stay tuned to find out! Next update will be next week, no question.**


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